Slipping
by Annaleise Marie
Summary: Emmett McCarty is a lead negotiator for the FBI who's never lost a hostage. He expected today to be no different. That was before he learned who the hostage was. Will he be able to keep his cool with the love of his life in danger, or will he slip up?
1. Any Other Day

**Slipping  
**Annaleise Marie

**Summary**: Emmett McCarty is a lead negotiator for the FBI. Cool and calculating on the inside but easy-going and friendly on the outside, he's never lost a hostage. He expected today to be no different. That was before he learned who the hostage was. Will he be able to keep his cool with the love of his life in danger, or will he slip up?

**Part One**: Any Other Day

**AN**: I don't know what happened. This story just kind of came barreling into my mind with no warning, screaming "WRITE ME OR THE COMPUTER DIES!" Not being a negotiator like Emmett, I had to agree. So here I am. It'll only be three chapters long, so don't think it'll interfere with "Not Without A Fight". Hope you enjoy it! :D

I own nothing of any great value, including Twilight. Stephenie Meyer owns that.

---

"Waaaaaaaaaaaake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up, get out of bed!"

"Emmett, I swear to God, if you don't change that alarm, I will beat you to a bloody pulp," my wife, Rosalie, groaned as she rolled over, pulling her pillow out from under her and slamming it over her head.

"It's whimsical," I defended, slapping my hand around on the bedside table until I found my phone and then tossed it unceremoniously against the wall. The back flew off, releasing the battery. Rosalie snorted.

"Right, whimsical," she muttered, her voice muffled from under her pillow. "And I will whimsically beat you to death if you don't change it."

"Aww, babe, c'mon. You can't deny it works," I said with a grin, rolling over and pulling the pillow off her face to kiss her cheek before dropping it back down. She groaned grumpily and burrowed deeper into the bed.

"None of the rest of the world shares your desire to get up at four in the morning," she grumbled. I rolled my eyes.

"I don't _want _to get up at four in the morning, I _have _to get up at four in the morning," I clarified and she waved her hand dismissively. I was sure that all she wanted now was for me to leave her alone so she could go back to sleep.

I left her to that and went to the bathroom, starting the shower before stripping out of my boxers and stepping in before the water warmed up. As effective as the 'god damned annoying ass fucking alarm' – as Rosalie had dubbed it – was, nothing beat a cold blast of water to wake you up.

The truth was, most days I didn't mind getting up at four. I was pretty versatile, and as long as I got my eight hours in I would wake up at one in the morning if I was asked to. And most days my job was pretty routine. Even in a city like New York, there weren't hostage situations every day. On the days when nothing went down, I punched my time card and waded through files and investigations, interviewing suspects, all of that boring shit.

But every so often we'd get the call that some lunatic had taken a hostage. Armed robberies, political agendas, holiday family feuds, it didn't matter. If someone was in some way being held ransom, I was sent out.

Those days were the hardest. They could range from the normal eight hours to twenty agonizing non-stop hours of stress and mind games. Mind games, that was my job. And I was damned good at it. I've yet to lose a match.

When I came out of the bathroom, Rosalie was sitting up in bed, the TV turned on to Red Eye.

"How do you watch that shit, babe?" I asked, going into the closet to find a suit for the day. I think I'll wear a black one. I like the whole 'men in black' image. It seems fitting of my job, even if I'm not hunting down aliens.

"It's interesting," she said.

"It's not even real news," I said, pulling my slacks on before heading back into the bedroom. She glared at me.

"Of course it is. They just put a different spin on it," she said.

"Jon and Kate," I said, glancing at the television. "Very newsworthy."

"Bite me," she said and I grinned, wiggling my eyebrows at her. "They were just discussing those police murders in Washington. I hate that Charlie's stuck there."

"I think he's pretty safe in Forks, babe," I said, laughing. Charlie was my brother's father-in-law.

"Still, you know Bella. She's freaking out."

"Of course she is," I said. Rosalie raised an eyebrow at me. "Look, you know I love Bella, but she loves stressing herself out about things that don't matter."

"I'd say it matters."

"Maybe if it was actually happening in Forks, or hell, even Port Angeles. It's happening in Tacoma," I said. She shrugged and then stood up and came over to me as I struggled with my tie, batting my hands away before tying it herself. I could tie it myself, of course, but I always pretend that I can't because I like that short moment of intimacy when she ties it for me. Call me a sap.

She used the tie to pull me down to her level when she was done, kissing me shortly before releasing it.

"So what are you doing today?" I asked as I went to retrieve my phone and put it back together. "It's your day off, right?"

"Please," she scoffed. "You know as well as I do that there's no such thing as a real day off. I'm going to drop Emma off with your parents and then I have errands to run. If I'm lucky I'll be home in time to get dinner on the table before my demanding husband comes home."

"Oh god, you're not going to cook are you?"

"Hey, I am a _great _cook, you ass!" she defended, swatting my arm playfully. I shot her a skeptical glance as I snapped the back casing of the phone back in place. "Okay, I'm not a _great _cook," she conceded. "But I'm getting better since your mom started helping me."

"Because she's afraid that there will be another Thanksgiving food poisoning incident," I muttered teasingly, dodging another swat and grabbing my suit jacket before heading to the bedroom door. "Hey, it's not your fault. Who knew that preparing ham and then deviled eggs without washing your hands between them would cause cross-contamination?" I said as she followed me to the door.

"Be safe, okay?" Rosalie asked, stretching up to kiss me goodbye. I nodded. It was part of our normal morning routine, and I secretly wondered if it wasn't the reason that every one of my negotiations had gone well. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I said before stepping out, tiptoeing past Emma's room so as not to wake her – if Rosalie had to be awake this early, she didn't need to deal with a hyperactive six-year-old on top of that.

I arrived at the office an hour later, taking my seat at my desk in the office I shared with Peter. I didn't care much for him, but he was indirectly responsible for me meeting Rosalie, being best friends with Jasper, her brother, so I always made it a point to be civil towards him out of some sort of gratitude. Not that I really owed him anything, but it just seemed right.

"Got the reports on those Washington murders," he said as I booted up my computer. I looked over at him. He was reclined in his desk chair, his arms folded over his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

"So why aren't you working on them?" I asked.

"Because what the fuck do they think we're going to find about something that's going on along with fucking west coast?" he asked and I sighed. I regularly wondered if Peter really understood his job description.

"Because do you really think the perpetrators woke up one day and decided to gun down four cops? They probably have prior records. You could make yourself useful and try to dig up something that matches their MO," I said, pulling up the file on my computer.

"That will take _years_," he groaned. "We have files on every fucking offender in the country."

"You know, if you don't like it, maybe you shouldn't be working for the feds," I said.

"All I'm saying is, it's tedious," he sighed, sitting up and turning his attention to his computer. "Something more interesting needs to happen."

"You should thank your lucky stars that it's boring around here. Interesting is usually bad news in this business."

---

The call came in at nine. There had been an armed robbery at the First National Bank in Rochester. The local police had been dispatched and had been handling it until they found out that the robber had taken a hostage.

"Well, Peter, it looks like you got your wish," I said, leaving the office to suit up and head down to Rochester.

---

The outside of the bank was a fucking madhouse when we got there. Camera crews, reporters, and the general public were milling about. Christ. It would be nice to _just once_ be able to do my job without having to clear out a fucking circus first.

"ATTENTION!" a female voice blared and I turned around to see Jane standing on the running board of one of the unmarked SUVs, a megaphone clasped in her hand. Jane was fucking scary, and I had never been more glad to be on this side of the law than when I first met her. She's all of four-foot-ten, with the body of a twelve year old, the face of a child, and the attitude of a cornered mother lion. She laid me flat on my back my first day of hand-to-hand training, and smiled through the whole thing.

"ATTENTION! CLEAR OUT OF THE AREA! ANYONE REMAINING IN THE AREA WILL BE DETAINED FOR INTERFERING IN A FEDERAL INVESTIGATION!" she issued the standard warning.

Her husband Alec, along with Felix and Demitri, our "heavies", moved through the crowd, directing people away from the site. Christ, this wasn't our job. Why hadn't the local police already done this?

I went to the surveillance van to find Peter zooming between computers, entering codes and issuing orders to the tech team. He was a lazy-ass fucker, but it always amazed me how good he was with computers.

"We've got a feed from the security cameras inside, but we can't see the hostage. This guy's no idiot. The cameras are movable, but it looks like he has them sitting directly under one," he said, moving aside to let me see the monitors.

"Are we making contact with him?" I asked.

"Not until Jane and the rest secure the area, unless he makes a move. Public safety and all that, right?" he smirked.

"One good civilian death would teach them all to clear out when we tell them to," Aro said from his seat as he set up the recording equipment on our phone line.

"Aro," I said warningly. He shrugged.

"Sometimes you have to set an example," he said.

"And sometimes you have to remember that you're here to protect the civilians," I retorted.

"Cool down, man, I'm just here to run audio," he said and I thanked whatever god was out there that that was all he did. God knows he didn't have the people skills to actually make contact with anyone.

"Yo, McCarty," Jane's sharp voice broke in and I turned around to see her standing outside of the van. "The area's secured. We've got Marcus and his group patrolling the parameter. The boys and I are going on standby at the front entrance, and Caius is taking his team around to the emergency exits. Chelsea's got her crew on the rooftops and Cornin and Heidi are in the air."

"Thanks, Jane," I muttered and she nodded before hurrying off to her post. "Peter, get me a visual on this guy. Aro, get him on the line. Everyone, shut up." Chances are that the second I got him on the phone, he'd know that I was one of the guys out here, but there was no need to confirm just how many people could hear him. Keep it simple, intimate – never corner the perpetrator.

Aro handed me the phone. We didn't use the intercom system because it created an echo that tipped the perp off to the fact that people were listening, if they weren't already aware. Instead, I talked on one line while the call was monitored through headphones by the other guys.

As the phone rang, Peter manipulated the cameras to focus on the main desk. For a moment I thought that the guy might not answer, but in the next second he swaggered into view, leaning against the counter before picking the phone up.

"First National Bank," he said calmly. He wasn't trying to pass it off – he was mocking us.

"Good morning," I greeted him easily. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Well, I don't see how that's really important, but I guess you can call me James," he answered, his head back, appearing very interested in the ceiling.

"So what're you up to?" I asked. I expected him to laugh – that nervous, high-pitched, almost angry laughter that most of them gave me. He didn't. At first I wondered if he had even heard me.

"Well," he said contemplatively after a moment. His voice was calm, lacking in the desperation I was used to encountering. "I'm wondering just which tactic you're going to employ."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, are you going to offer me what I want? Or are you going to try to be my new best friend so that I'll have a change of heart? Or maybe you'll just demand that I let her go," he mused. I forced an easy laugh.

"You've been watching too many crime shows," I answered. "I'm just hoping we can come to an agreement."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, sounding amused, but falsely so, as though he had rehearsed how to do it, but didn't know the emotion first-hand. "Well, that changes things."

"Really?" I asked skeptically. This was too easy. Way, way, too easy.

"No, not really," he said, his eyes coming down to focus on the area directly under the camera closest to the back east corner of the bank. "Because see, I'm not out for anything."

"Then why do it?" I asked. I didn't really care about his answer. The important thing was that he was talking. The first rule is to keep them talking as long as you can. The longer you talk to them, the longer you put off their actions, and the closer they feel to you. Eventually they either rethink what they're doing or actually start listening to you, and then you have control again.

"Haven't you ever just wanted to shock the world?" he asked. "Just to see what would happen? Better yet, haven't you ever wanted to hold someone else's life in your hands? To have them _beg_ for it?"

"Can't say that I have," I said. I was listening carefully to what he was saying now. This sounded like... but the MO didn't match. He had released everyone but one person... The type of people that I was now comparing him to tended to do things on a much larger scale.

"No? That surprises me," he said and on the monitor I saw him shrug, as though brushing it off. "But then, I don't really know you, do I? Tell me something about yourself."

"My name's Detective Emmett McCarty," I said. "My favourite colour is blue and I kickbox as a hobby." I paused. "But we both know you're not really that interested in me."

"You're probably right about that," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Are you armed, James?" I asked.

"That's a pretty stupid question, Detective," he said, that same deadened amusement dripping from his voice. "You think I could've done this if I weren't armed?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "How do you feel?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. I shrugged, even though he couldn't see me. Going through the physical motions helped me keep up the verbal part.

"Well, if it were me, I'd be pretty freaked out. I mean, you've dug yourself in pretty deep, taking a hostage and all," I said. He smirked.

"Is that how you want me to feel?" he asked.

"How I want you to feel isn't important."

"And this isn't Dr. Phil."

"You know what's strange? You'll answer any question except this one. What's so wrong with discussing it? Think you'll look weak for the television crews? They're gone. No shame," I said, grinning.

"Emotions aren't important to me. So let's talk about something else. Otherwise, I might get bored and gut this pretty little woman like a fish." His voice was dead. He truly felt no reservations about killing this woman. It meant nothing more to him than – like he said – filleting a fish.

That was it. I turned to Laurent and threw him the signal that changed everything. We were dealing with a psychopath. At the turn of the century, following the events of the Columbine Massacre, our methods of dealing with suspected psychopaths have changed. There is no room for negotiations, because negotiations are useless. They want nothing, and therefore we have no leverage. They're in it for the thrill – unable to feel emotion of their own, they seek anything that will spark even the slightest bit. James was getting pleasure from this, and he would get more from killing his hostage.

Instead of negotiating, it was now a game of opportunity. It was up to Jane, Marcus, Caius, and Chelsea, along with the rest of their teams, to get to him before he could get to her.

"Let's talk about her then." I fought to keep my voice steady. I had never had to deal with a psychopath before. "Who do you have there, James?" I asked conversationally and on the monitor I could see the sick grin spreading across his face as Peter brought the camera closer on him.

"Well it's funny you should ask that, Detective," he said slowly, his eyes flitting to the camera. Fucker knew we were watching and was enjoying every minute of it. "Because it's quite the coincidence, you see. Her name's Rosalie McCarty. Isn't that funny, Detective? She has the same last name as you."

---

**AN**: Reviews are love! If you loved this, pass it back to me with a review! And keep a lookout for part two! :D

For more information on psychopathy, and the effect of the Columbine Massacre on law enforcement's methods of dealing with suspected psychopaths, I recommend "Columbine" by Dave Cullen.


	2. No Shots Fired

**Slipping  
**Annaleise Marie

**Part Two**: No Shots Fired

**AN**: Wow, and I thought the response to the first chapter of NWAF was impressive. You guys made me _so _very happy, you have no idea!

So now, without much further rambling, I bring you Part Two! I just have to say first that while I own this particular story (check the name, yo), I do not own the original Twilight saga or the characters. They all belong to Stephenie Meyer.

---

I heard wrong. I had to have heard wrong. _Rosalie?_ What were the odds that he had Rosalie? I looked at Peter, who had whipped his headphones off and was looking at me with wide eyes.

"Mother fucker," he mouthed. I was still reeling too much to reply.

Was he bluffing? But what were the odds that he knew about me personally? Especially enough to know if I was married? And even if he had guessed that much, what were the odds of him guessing her name?

"You sure about that, James?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, as though I had no idea who she was. "That _is _quite a coincidence."

"You know, I don't think it is," he mused, and his eyes were once more resting on the area under the back east camera. I nudged Peter and tapped the screen for that camera. He started moving the others, trying to get a visual on that one, and the space under it. "Well, it is in the sense that I kept her, but I don't think that the fact that you two share a last name is a coincidence."

I held up his hand, holding something small to the light, but I wasn't focused on it. I was watching the other monitors as Peter moved them, trying to find one with a range of motion that would allow us to see the far east.

"She was wearing a wedding ring," James informed me and it was the use of the word _was_ that brought my full attention back to him. I realized what he was holding up: Rosalie's wedding ring. "Very beautiful. I do compliment your taste in jewelry," he said, smiling. "And the inscription – so very heartbreakingly sweet." I knew the next words before he said them. "My angel, forever by my side."

Hearing the words coming from him turned my stomach. The inscription had been Alice, Jasper's wife's idea, but it had always been so fitting. Now it felt violated, somehow... greasy.

"I wonder what your face will look like when your angel is taken away," he said quietly. "It's such a shame that I won't be able to see it. After all, you'll be able to see me." I closed my eyes, trying to calm my temper. I had to stay cool. I had to keep James busy, or else Jane and the others wouldn't be successful. If I didn't play his game, I _would_ lose Rosalie, and it would be all my fault. I had to play my part, just like everyone else.

But _dammit_, I wanted to storm that fucking bank and beat him until he resembled bloody pudding. I probably would, if my training hadn't made me painfully aware that that would guarantee Rosalie's death before I could even reach him.

"Still there, Detective?" he asked quietly.

"Let me talk to her," I said. I was having trouble even pretending to be calm.

"Hmm... I don't know if that's a good idea," James said, sounding deep in thought. "But if you're very good, I'll leave this connection intact so that you can hear her last words, when the time comes."

I felt bile rising in my throat. I had seen and heard a lot of sick things in my line of work, but this was unprecedented. At that moment Peter nudged me and pointed to the screen directly in front of him. He had managed to find Rosalie. As suspected, he had put her under the camera. Peter zoomed in, forcing the grainy security feed to pick up more detail, and the bile threatened to burst forward.

Rosalie was bleeding freely from the mouth and nose, and her cheekbone was starting to bruise. I tore my eyes away, knowing that if I looked at it any longer I would blow it. Thankfully Laurent appeared outside of the van, reaching in and tapping me to get my attention. He handed me a note. He looked uncharacteristically stressed out. That didn't bode well.

_All entrances are blocked. Chances of getting in and taking him down before he can act are estimated to be about 10%. Proceed?_ the note read in Jane's sharp writing.

Ten percent? Fuck no!

But I had to think about it. My intuition had given me a one hundred percent recovery rate. If this was anyone else, would I give them permission to move in? I trusted Jane's abilities, along with the rest of her team, and the other teams as well. But if _she_ was estimating her chances of success as being that low, she was probably right.

But then, what else was there to do? Sit here and wait for him to kill her on his own schedule? Fuck.

I picked up a pen and scribbled a question to Laurent.

_Is there a fire escape on the roof?_

He nodded and I picked the pen up again.

_Tell Chelsea to try her luck_.

As he left to deliver the message, I realized that neither James nor I had said anything for a few minutes. My eyes swept over the monitors, trying to spot him. He had moved behind the counter and was now moving a chair around it, the receiver cradled between his ear and his shoulder.

"What are you doing James?" I asked and he paused for just a second before setting the chair down and pressing the speaker button on the phone and hanging up the receiver. He picked the chair back up before answering me .

"I got to thinking about it," he said. "And I really don't think it's fair that you get to see me, but I don't get to see your reaction." He sat the chair down and my eyes flitted to another monitor, which was suddenly very close to James' face as he stepped up onto the chair.

_Fuck no_.

The next second the screen was covered in snow, the video feed lost. The fucker had cut the wires on the camera. Peter started entering things into the computer, looking more frustrated with every command that didn't work.

The camera never came back on.

"So I think," James said, coming into view on another monitor, sitting the chair down in front of the camera and climbing up again, "that I'm just going to have to put an end to it."

The next monitor turned to snow. Fuck, this guy was going to blind us. I didn't know what to do.

Where were Chelsea and her team? What was taking them so long? Why weren't they taking this fucker down?

I was slipping. Forced out of my element, away from the usual perps, I was losing my grip on this situation. One by one, the monitors went out until the only one left was the one over Rosalie. James appeared in front of it, the phone now in his hands.

"Well, Detective," James' bored voice filtered through the phone a moment later, "it's been nice, but I think it's time to end this, don't you?"

"James, don't do this," I said warningly. I could practically feel him smiling through the phone. The sound of a clip sliding into place came over the line and he sighed.

"I really wish I could see your face. But hey, maybe I'll catch a glimpse of it when you come in here after me and see her lying there – your poor, dead, angel." He looked dead into the camera as though making eye contact with me. "Bye now."

The monitor went blank and over the phone I heard Rosalie scream, the phone hit the ground, and then the line went dead.

Two shots rang through the air. My heart stopped and then sped up again, working double time.

There was silence as we waited for someone to report shots fired over the walkie-talkie. After a moment there was a crackle of static and Jane's voice came over the line.

"Ground Team One, no shots fired," she reported and my heart started beating impossibly faster.

"Ground Team Two, no shots fired," Marcus' voice announced after Jane.

"Ground Team Three, no shots fired," Caius said.

"Sniper Team, no shots fired," Chelsea said and by this time I was pretty sure I was having a heart attack. It hadn't been Chelsea's team. The only team with a chance of getting in, and it hadn't been them.

"Air Team One, no shots fired," Cornin said. That only left...

"Air Team Two," Heidi started quietly and I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. My world was crashing around me as I waited for her report. If it hadn't been her team – and in all likelihood, it wasn't; the air teams were mainly used for surveillance – then that meant the shots had definitely come from inside the building. "No shots fired."

---

**AN**: So there you have it folks! Another cliffhanger (tacked onto a very short chapter, at that - sorry)! Because I'm evil like that. And because I plan to have this story done by Wednesday. Yes, it shall have a fairly short run. I may leave it open for a sequel. Eh. I doubt it. I guess it all depends on what you tell me in the reviews for this chapter. Because you _are _going to review, aren't you?

Now, I must get my ass in gear and go finish my chapter of _Asthenia_, before I get hunted down and killed by my soulmate, **Nachos4Children**. If you haven't checked out _Asthenia_, please do! It's our collaboration. /shameless pimping of my other stories

Love you all! Thanks for reading and I look forward to hearing from you!


	3. Death and Recovery

**Slipping  
**Annaleise Marie

**Part Three**: Death and Recovery

**AN**: I love you guys. Your feedback made me so happy. :D

I'm sorry about not sending out individual replies to all of you, but I lost track of who I had and

---

I don't remember standing up. I don't remember leaving the van, and I don't remember running across the parking lot. But suddenly I was being forcibly restrained by Felix and Demetri as Jane and Alec broke down the door to the bank. Demetri was yelling something about me not wearing my vest and other gear, but it was like I was hearing him from underwater. It wasn't important. What was important was ten yard away, in the bank. My mind was spinning. I couldn't breathe. Was I underwater? I wasn't even sure about that anymore.

---

**RPOV**

"You sick mother fucker!" I spat, and in my peripheral I could see flecks of blood leaving my mouth. Fuck.

_Don't try to be a hero, _Emmett had always told me. _If you're ever in one of these situations, don't try to be a hero._

Fuck that, Emmett. Fuck.

The second James was up on the desk chair, focused on disabling the camera, I had kicked it out from under him. If I was going to die anyway, I wasn't going without a fight. The phone hit the ground, the cord disconnecting, as James hit the floor. The gun hit the ground, misfiring somewhere to my right. I grabbed it, scrambling to my feet and landing a kick square in his stomach as he tried to get up.

I'm not a great shot, but at point-blank range, anyone can hit a target. I wasn't even aware of raising the gun, or pulling the trigger. I was running on adrenaline and instinct. This fucker had tormented my husband, threatened by life, and my family by extension, and for what? For his own amusement, as far as I could tell. And he had knocked out at least two of my teeth and I hate dentists so that shit just didn't fly.

The bullet entered his throat, and his blood sprayed my pants. I jumped back, not wanting any part of him on me, before raising the gun once more as his hand came to his throat.

Which brought us back to the present as the main door burst open and Jane and Alec came rushing in. I had met them at bureau functions, but at the moment I couldn't recognize them. It didn't matter.

What mattered was that this fucker died.

I pulled the trigger again, just as Jane and Alec raised their weapons.

I've never seen three bullets enter someone's skull simultaneously. Even in the most far-fetched action movies. I saw his skull blast apart, pieces of flesh and bone and pulpy-like brain matter separating and landing feet away from his body before I sunk to my knees, heaving and losing what was left in my stomach from breakfast.

I was exhausted, emotionally bankrupt. I couldn't stay conscious anymore. I fell into blackness as Jane ordered the rest of the team inside.

---

**EPOV**

The next three shots ripped through the air at the same time moments after Jane and Alec entered the building. They were too close together. James had to have caused one of them. At least. Who else had been shot? Jane? Alec? Or was it the finishing blow to...

I might have been screaming. I wasn't sure. I was underwater and my voice was muted, taking too long to reach even my ears. Felix's hands gripped my upper arms, one leg hooked around the front of my left one. Demitri had me from behind, his arms around my middle, one foot stilling my right one while the other was anchored behind him, countering my weight.

Jane was yelling something from inside, and the rest of her team rushed in. Was it Rosalie? Alec? Had they gotten James? Who was going to be coming out in a body bag?

Everything suddenly returned, like someone had suddenly attached A/V cords to the world, as Felix and Demetri released me. I heard Heidi and Cornin's choppers overhead, Laurent making announcements over the megaphone, the clamour of the crowd that was gathering just outside of the area roped off by Jane. I was lurching towards the door, grabbing the frame to stop myself as I came face-to-face with Alec.

_Alec_.

Alec, who was alive. Alec, who had the limp form of my wife in his arms.

I wasn't sure how it happened but she was suddenly in my arms and I was sitting on the ground with her held against me. I don't remember if I sat down or fell. It didn't matter. I think I was crying. That didn't matter either.

I had lost. The one time it really _mattered, _I had lost.

So I didn't believe it when I felt her move. It had to be my mind playing tricks on me. I wanted to believe it, but that was probably what was causing it and I think I started crying harder.

"Emmett," I heard her whisper. This was too cruel. Wasn't it bad enough that I had lost her? And Emma... This morning, Emma had a mother. How was I going to explain this to her?

"Emmett," she whispered again and now her hand was touching my face. I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was this happening? Was I going crazy.

"Emmett!" she shouted, and I felt her hand make solid contact with my face as she slapped me. "Snap out of it and say something! You're scaring the shit out of me!"

I almost laughed because that was just so Rosalie.

I opened my eyes and her blue ones were staring into mine, looking concerned. My heart started thudding. I had thought it had stopped, I hadn't noticed it in so long. Maybe it hadn't been that long. It couldn't have possibly been more than five minutes, right?

Rosalie was looking at me, sitting up, her hands running comfortingly though my hair.

"Rose," I croaked. My voice was sore. I guess I _had _been screaming.

"Jesus Christ, after everything I've been through today, _you _felt the need to scare me, too? What the hell, Emmett?" she demanded, but it didn't cover the relief in her voice.

She was alive. I couldn't be imagining this to this extent, right?

She slumped against me, her face buried in my neck and her warm breath ghosting over my collar. I felt warmth spreading across the fabric and I remembered that she was still bleeding. I would have to let her go soon to get medical attention.

I couldn't imagine letting her go. Ever. Not if I lived another eighty years. I'd have to, because Rosalie will do what she wants and not put up with me shadowing her around, but that didn't mean I wanted to. And I definitely didn't now.

"I killed him," she muttered. I did laugh at that. That strange, relieved, desperate laugh that I was so used to hearing on the other end of the phone, the laugh that I never would have imagined would come from me.

"Atta girl," I said. "Christ..." I just couldn't think of anything to say.

When Renata, our on-site paramedic, finally came to take her away from me to decide how serious the wounds on her face were, I reluctantly let her go, seeing Laurent approach with her, looking at me like he needed to say something.

"So, she killed him," he said. "Jane saw it, Alec saw it, and the ballistics will show it..."

"What are you saying?"

"She'll be tried," he said slowly. "She'll be found innocent, because it was in defense, and even before James cut the video, there was enough evidence for that, but she'll still have to stand trial, as it is."

"God," I groaned. He crouched down beside me, grinning conspiratorially.

"Keep your mouth shut about what happened. I've already convinced Jane and Alec. I'm going to disappear some evidence. The second bullet. As far as the ballistics report is concerned, the gun misfired into his neck, and Jane and Alec shot him. Rosalie won't be implicated."

I wanted to thank him. Trials are hard on the victims, even if they're not the ones actually on trial. After all this, Rosalie shouldn't be subjected to that. I couldn't find the words, though, and before I had the chance he was standing up again.

"No need for thanks," he said as if sensing my struggle. "You can just buy me a beer when we all go out to celebrate a successful takedown." He glanced across the parking lot to the ambulance, where Renata was inspecting Rosalie. "In a few days, of course. I figure you two will need a bit of recovery.

---

**3rdPOV**

Victoria was bustled back and forth by the crowd, everyone trying to get closer to see what had happened, or trying to fight their way out of the throng when the shots were fired.

The blonde girl came out alive, which only meant one thing.

Sure enough, a half hour later, a stretcher was rolled into the bank and then back out, a large form covered in a white sheet being towed on it.

She turned, keeping her face expressionless, and walked from the crowd.

Detective Emmett McCarty and his pretty little wife...

---

**AN**: Sorry to anyone who was fooled by the chapter title. It is, however, accurate. XD And who says you can't have a cliffhanger as a chapter title? Pfft.

But we have a happy ending, right? Right? :D Totally worth it, right? /prompts for feedback.

So as you can see, I left the ending open for a bit of a relatively-canon sequel. Thoughts?

It's the last chapter. If you have been lurking about, waiting for a time to say something, I would _love _to hear from you this time around. What were your thoughts on the story as a whole? :3

I love you all, and I'll see you on the flip side!


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